when our metal collided,forming a beautiful mess of flames and exchanged paint,they dragged my unrecognizable hunk of meat,fire still dancing on my skin,to a blinding, sterilized building smelling of alcohol and copperusually reserved for bullets in the chest and praying mothers.

they pricked my arms and legs and chest and everywhere in between.never was there a momentwhere cool palms were not smoothing downthe few strands of hair still attached to my scalp.

howls never failed to fill the night-every night-and my father joined the wolf packonce they whispered"we have some bad news."

their methods had failed to see my body perfect again.but what they didn't knowis that instead of dripping recycled blooddown the tubes jammed in the holes decorating my skin,they should have poured wordsin to my running river veins.

ALL OPINIONS APPRECIATED AND FEEDBACK IS VERY VERY WELCOME

especially since I'm entering this for a chance to win classes taught by an actual college professor about poETRY EEP I WOULD LOVE TO BE ABLE TO LEARN IN THIS CLASS.

if this poem is not worthy, then please please tell me, or tell me how to make it better, or even if I should pick a different poem all together.

this class/audition is only for high schoolers, and I'm 14 by the way.

color me the hue of your cigarette ash; slam broken beer bottles in to my palm and wipe the blood on an old t-shirt. paint me pretty with ***** red lipstick (stolen from my mother) and stuff me in to china doll shells. you say “this change will be good for you” i say “this is too fun to stop” my father says “oh good god, what have you done?” but darling, let’s not listen to anyone else, and continue tattooing memories on our skin.”

I am nothing but a bag of unnecessary rocks slung over your shoulder. I am nothing but the wisps of smoke drifting from a cigarette, slowly fading as I travel in to the night. I am nothing but the cracks on a stranger's windshield after their hit and run- a flashback that will bring pain and guilt in to your shell. I am nothing but a hindrance, a fleeting thought, a horrid memory.

he found her with a bottle of pills clutched tightly in white knuckled fingersher eyes were fallen shut and he was so tempted to leave her resting peacefully, she looked so beautifulbut after a moment(m o m e n t .)he realized that the girl who ran though his mind, chasing butterflies each dayh a d c o m m i t t e d s u i c i d e .she always spoke about how she wanted to ****** an angel's wingsto see if they were truly as soft as they merely appeared.her limp body lay, spread out, her hair spilling over her pillow,anyone else might have believed she was just a sleeping beautybut he knew.a wretched, throat-bleeding scream filled his ears, one so full of agony and heartbreak that he fell to his kneesit took him a second of agony to realize the teeth grinding screech was coming from h i s lips.

the words are so hard, that they chip my teeththey feel unnatural on my swollen pink tonguethere are too many, that all want to come out at onceso I choke on them, saliva rushing out past my gumsmy lips split and blood gushes down my chinleaving rust marks on the pale milky skin.

she is disgusted by me.each and every dayher eyes scrutinize meand my distinct flawsher bitter words sting me so very d e e p l y"*****" "****" "what is wrong with you?"sometimes tears roll down her gaunt cheeksand I wonderif I make everyone as sad as I make hershe is a broken glass figurineand to make herself feel whole againshe cut her skinand created me.

he liked to count his ribs( 1 2 3 4 ...)and brush his nails against his collarbones(so prominent...)his palms cupped his knobby elbows(years to perfect...)and the sun shone between his thighs(lighting up his world...)

his body was so very a l i v ehis heart beat in o v e r t i m emeanwhile, his eyes were d e a d .